The Cloak
by The Anti-Romantic
Summary: A cloak leads us through four different lives of four completely different people, who unknowingly have a bond that if known could lead to their happiness, but as fate has it, if unknown will lead to their doom.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

_Death is not the worst that can happen to men._

_Plato_

She pulled herself until she was on the edge of the bed, teetering on the edge of remembering and letting go of it all. She curled her toes just enough so they didn't touch the rich hardwood floor yet, whose coolness would bring reality crashing around her. Sighing, she pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders, the feel of the fabric against her bare skin willing her to lie back down beside him, singing her the promise of a few more hours of something that didn't exist.

She finally stood, pushing a warm breath through her lips in neither relief nor frustration that it was over, and walked away from the bed. The cloak shadowed her every move and when she collapsed in the corner of the room it clung to her every curve and shape, holding her, and soaking up the grief she finally released.

He stirred slightly. She knew he had heard her, but what could he do but ignore her? Ignore her as he had always done, as he would now have to continue to do. She pulled the cloak tighter around her; the smell of him lingering in it's every stitch. At that moment it was the only thing that prevented her from falling. She stood, wiped the lone tear from her cheek and made to gather up her clothes. She could feel him staring at her, though he was pretending not to. Neither spoke.

Silently she made her way to the bathroom, closing the door and abruptly cutting off the atmosphere of unsaid promises and comforts. It had been one night, and now it was over.

Trembling, she removed the cloak and shrugged into her clothes, wrinkled with feeling and fervor. She cruelly bound her dirty gold locks in a band, letting the too short pieces frame her face.

"It's over," she whispered to her pale reflection in the mirror. Mere hours ago the girl in the mirror had been glowing; her cheeks tinted with red like she'd stepped in from the cold, her hair nothing but a halo of innocence. Now her hair was dirty, her body stained. _No,_ she thought fiercely,_ tonight you will be stained. Today…today you are painted._

Holding back a fresh round of tears—a sure sign of weakness—she threw the cloak around her shoulders before numbly removing it again. It wasn't hers. It never had been. Then again, it had never really been anybody's.

She quickly opened the door and stepped back into the dark room, the first pale streaks of the sunrise hidden by the blinds. The dark-haired man in the bed flipped over so his back was to both doors: that which she had just come through and that which through she would leave. He wasn't being callous; he was being cold, as they would both have to be now. She tossed the cloak carelessly onto the edge of the bed, the edge which had minutes ago been the only thing holding her in a dream, and headed for the door. With one hand on the doorknob she strained to not look back.

As she opened the door and stepped across the threshold, she left behind her life, everything that had made it worth living. And out on the street an unknowing stranger passed a ghost, a mere replica of what once had been worth something. Miles away on another street, the sun creeping its way over the horizon, another stranger passed another ghost, another who had just walked away from the only man she had ever loved. Unwillingly, Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson shared a bond: they had both died that morning and were now walking to a fate far worse: the person they must pretend to love.

**A/N: **I will tell you all the same things I told my readers on AT.

1. Since JK has never delved into the character of Pansy she will not, I repeat, ever be OOC because she is my creation now, though she will remain a true Slytherin and hopefully true to what we know about her. So no one is allowed to yell at me about her, and you won't have much reason too, she won't be fluffy and happy, she won't be a poor tortured child thrown cruelly into Slytherin, she will merely be the Pansy we know, but have yet to meet.

2. Hermione and Pansy will not be 'best friends' nor probably even that civil to each other if I can help it.

3. Hermione will not miraculously wake up one morning with a hair full of soft beautiful tresses that every guy would die for, her bushy busy hair long forgotten. Oh no. She's keeping the hair, and she will forever remain faithful to her books and perfectioness.

Am I on 3 or 4.? Pansy will not encounter an accident with a bludger that cures her face of its pugness that makes every guy want to shag her. Repeat it. She will not have radient gold hair we were NOT told about, or be an actual sweetheart at heart.

5. The only constructive critisism allowed is to be on my writing, some fact I mentioned in an early chapter and abandoned in another, or my natrocious spelling. I do not want to be yelled at because of my plot bunnies or twists or cliff hangers or actions of the characters. This is my story, and you are only allowed praise unless its constructive...constructive critisism, see above.

FYI on the prologue. It is not the beginning of the story, but more the middle/end. First chapter I will start at the beginning and at one point you'll be asked to read the prologue again as that is where it fits into the story, this was just a taste to get you started, intrigue you, and hopefully keep you coming!

Please Review.

Love,

The Anti-Romantic


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

_When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life so that when you die, the world cries and you rejoice_.

_Cherokee Expression_

The halls of Hogwarts would echo with laughter until eternity. Every morning, the sun would throw its beams into its numerous hallways lighting even the darkest corners. But in the dead of night there was no light and to the young girl who wandered them now no echo but that of her expensive shoes.

War had been a simple rumble in the distance until now. Now Pansy was being asked to choose sides. It was no secret what side she was supposed to choose, the one she would choose, but that didn't help her sleep any better.

In half a year seventeen-year-old Pansy would be finished at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, if it was still standing. She would most likely marry Draco Malfoy—good looking but arrogant and obsessed with power. She knew her future with little promise of change and had accepted it. Except on these late night walks.

And Pansy wasn't alone.

> > > > > > > > > > > > > >

Draco Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin, sat on his throne. Tonight it was nothing more then a windowsill in an abandoned hallway. For once his expression wasn't proud or arrogant or even blank; it was simply pure.

He glanced down at his arm adorning his new label, his new owner. Draco Malfoy never belonged to himself. His whole life he was his father's property and tonight he had become the darkest man's in history.

A death eater was all he'd ever been raised to be and he was a very promising one. He would probably even surpass his father. _Imagine the look on his face._

It wasn't regret Draco Malfoy felt tonight. No, it was a simple longing for something more.

The sun peeked over the horizon and Draco felt it best to return to bed. When he woke he would again be nothing more then someone else's possession.

> > > >> > > > > > > > > > >

A single flame encased the far corner of the library in early morning, despite all watchful eyes. Hermione Granger knew as Head Girl she really shouldn't be breaking rules, but tonight the sanctuary of her library is the only thing she wants.

Too many months had crept by silent since the night in the Department of Mysteries. Too much had not been spoken. Too little had been forgotten.

In less then a month she would be eighteen and able to join the order. There she would finally receive answers; answers she may not want once known. Nothing was the same anymore. Nothing was as black and white as it had once seemed.

Hermione gathered her candle and started out of the library. There were so many uncertainties about the war. How many innocent lives would be taken? Would her own? How would they ever move on?

One thing was certain: Hermione would stand beside Harry no matter what.

> > > > > > > > > > > > >

The early risers rolled over in their beds, begging for a few more minutes of sleep. Harry knew he had a few more moments left to gather his thoughts.

He glanced out at the new dawn. One day it would not rise so surely. A day very soon it would reveal what the night had hid: the blood of innocence.

Harry had long ago accepted that this war was in his hands; that those who died would do so for him. He was the end. But what if he couldn't do it?

He reached up and touched his scar. Why couldn't someone else carry this burden? Why couldn't somebody else learn to watch bodies fall and just turn the other way like he couldn't? Why couldn't somebody else lose his or her family like he had? Why couldn't they face the fear of losing their friends like he did?

Harry knew, however, that he would not wish this fate upon anyone.

He heard Dean fall out of his bed, moaning and stood. It was time to face the day. It was time to be the hero everyone thought him to be.

**A/N:** Thank you for the one review I've received so far! Woooohoooo! I hope I get more ;). I hope you won't be confused too long...

Love,

The Anti-Romantic


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